Full World
by Death by manga
Summary: Fandom Blind Friendly. Having lost his powers defeating Aizen, Ichigo travels to the Big Apple to find purpose and start Pre-Med. Little does he know, that while he finished all his problems, Americans can't help but force their problems onto anyone with a heart big enough to help. Crime, violence, swearing
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : _This story takes place after the Aarancar arc where Ichigo loses all his Soul Reaper powers but does not involve the Quincy arc in any way. Some elements of the Fullbringer arc will be used later, but for now, enjoy the story._

 **Chapter 1**

The world of the Shinigami and Hollows was long over for Ichigo Kurosaki. The world beyond our own existence, had faded from his when he gave up his Shinigami powers to finally end Aizen's journey to godhood. He had to say goodbye to a dear comrade of his, and since then, he has only grown farther from his closest childhood friends.

The young boy had been through a lot, gutted, sliced, beaten, and blasted with whatever force the spirits of the afterlife regurgitate on their enemies. And he lived through it all before even became 18.

Some would hear his story and be surprised he's even functioning: Dead mother, deadbeat father, forced into life and death battles. Ichigo himself doesn't even know why he doesn't just curl into a ball and wish for it all to end. He does anyway, despite everything, because he can meet every problem head on. He HAS met every problem head on.

One must wonder then, what will he do, when the enemy never shows their face.

"Well, I guess this is going to be goodbye Kurosaki-kun" the weeping redhead cried into his arms as he stood in front of the airport. Orihime was always a loving girl who wore her heart on her sleeve, too kind for the world sometimes, but a lot smarter than most gave her credit.

"Relax Orihime, it's only a quick four and a half months, then I'll be back for Christmas break." Ichigo said, brushing her tear-stained cheek. "Pre-med will be a breeze. I mean, my old man passes, it can't be that hard"

"Just don't forget to write," Chad said, a stern but friendly grin trusting his best friend to do fine. "Orihime will throw a tantrum if you're even a week late."

"I will not" Orihime giggled, her tears of sadness turned to joy by the thought of Christmas coming in a few years. "but you will write, right?"

Ichigo looked over his friends, all who had come to see him off. Chad and Orihime were only the most vocal and closest, but the lobby was getting packed with classmates and colleagues from high school trying to stay in touch with him. It was good to be reminded just how much he was loved now and then. It the pits of despair of Hueco Mundo, it sometimes felt like he was all alone fighting the darkest of evils.

"I'll send an email once a week just to keep you guys informed." Ichigo was never one to break his word. It was one of his worst traits, but it certainly improved everyone's moods.

As the friends and family bid him fair well, Ichigo stared his father down, eye to eye. "No drop kicks? Not going to break my jaw?"

"Not with all these security guards watching me. Besides, you've taken enough beatings." His father looked over his son with both pride and shame. His son had grown into everything he could have hoped he could be. Strong, honorable, a grade-A student. He only wished his own failures hadn't lead up to this and stolen the boy's greatest talent that made him who he is.

Ichigo could tell his father was getting depressed and threw a playful jab at him to catch his attention. A few words of encouragement between the two and they broke away, with Ichigo making his way to bigger pastures.

A year or so ago, the boy had been gifted with the sight. The ability to see the spirits of the dead and had been conscripted into fighting on behalf of the Shinigami, warriors in charge of purifying corrupted souls. His father had been one of these Shinigami, though he never told him. He never told him anything, though he had plenty of reasons not to. Warriors battling the evil that dominated the souls of the departed is kind of a strange pill to swallow. Even for someone born with such a gift.

So, he leaves his father with satisfaction. His father blames himself for Ichigo losing his powers, but it was his own choice. Ichigo was never one to blame others for his own choices.

But enough looking down memory lane, it's time for Ichigo to meet his destiny in the Big Apple.

 **Conclusion** : _Sorry if this was mostly a flashback, I wanted to treat this as a self-contained story and make sure people didn't have to read over 700 chapters of the manga to know what's going on. I promise that future chapters will get a lot more expressive. And don't worry, this isn't goodbye forever to his old supporting cast, but I must give Ichigo a chance to get accustomed to living in America first._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** : Fandom Blind Friendly. This story takes place after the Aarancar arc where Ichigo loses all his Soul Reaper powers but does not involve the Quincy arc in any way. Some elements of the Fullbringer arc will be used later, but for now, enjoy the story.

Chapter 2

A dense fog clung to the narrow alleys of New York City. The taxis and commuters, desperate to dig themselves up. The traffic that morning was so slow, cars stood there, humming like the dead desperately clawing back from their open grave.

Ichigo was glad he had decided to walk to his campus. His luggage had been mailed ahead of time, so all he had was the clothes on his back, some small bills for food, and a phone in case anything bad happened. Should it happen to him or not had not been specified.

Ichigo had been to Tokyo a few times on class trips, but New York was a different breed of animal. And whatever kind of animal it was, Ichigo's first realization, was that it was a filthy one. Coffee cups thrown on the ground, a dozen posters fallen under the wheels of cars trying to push through the sticky syrup that covered the roads.

The people of America didn't really seem to care much for how their city looks despite how much pride they had for it. Graffiti painted walls, various clashing music going to war over who can be heard from outside of town. He practically had to tap dance to avoid all the shit on the ground, and not all of it looked like it came from a dog.

Ichigo tried to distract himself from the filth and focus on something more important: but it wasn't really the city that pulled at his stomach. Honestly, the filth and noise is a pleasant distraction from the real demons in him. Back in Japan he would do construction, help at his dad's clinic, do extra credit for school, anything to keep him active, to keep him distracted. His father thinks it might be PTSD, but Ichigo doubts it. Its just a general sense of dread and worry, combat senses on edge every waking moment.

He may have lost all his powers, but the training, the sword-skill, the souls he had reaped, it was no better than being a master killer and having nothing to use it on. He couldn't abandon any of it either. Chad spent his time taking over Ichigo's Soul Reaper duties after he retired, but he never seemed to feel the same weight in his eyes. Chad handled things in his own way. It helped that the Hollows he kills are so inhuman. Deformed, animalistic opponents with ceramic masks are a lot easier to kill than people.

Don't mistake Ichigo's anxiety with guilt or regret. He knew what he was doing when he chased after those that had kidnapped Orihime. He held no remorse for those who stood in his way. The ones Aizen had conscripted into his army of the damned held the same conviction to take his life.

What weighed so heavily on Ichigo's soul was that he can't turn that side of him off. He had to burn away the Reaper inside him to defeat Aizen. So why then did it feel like he still had so much reaping to do. Such an ambient bloodlust filled him, and it disgusted him.

Everyone thought he was being his usual self when he applied to go to college in America. Always seeking the most audacious of acts. The truth though, was that he couldn't look his own friends in the eyes without feeling envy for what they had. Not power. Not even innocence. An enemy. They could still fight the good fight, stop the wicked from devouring the pure. All he could do was watch his friends fight monsters he could not see, with weapons he could not wield. He was helpless, and useless.

Unable to take it anymore, he jerked away from the crowded crosswalk and went down an ally. The map he had printed back in Japan gave him a general layout of the city, and this would take him there just the same. Might take a little longer, but it was quieter. He hoped.

"Easy girl. I'm just looking for some craic is'all, no harm" the strange accent came around the corner of the alley, luring Ichigo over like a mystery he had to uncover.

 _Crack? That's a drug right?_ The voice had come from what looked like a burly man with hair redder than Ichigo's. He stood looming over a young woman holding her coat tight. Even if Ichigo hadn't been trained fluently in English, he knew universal body signals.

"Whats on girl?" He sees the girl's eyes meet Ichigo's and turns to him, a switchblade flipping out from some hidden space. "watch yourself boy. Hate to cut off that lovely hair when I scalp ye."

Ichigo walks up to face him without much worry. Powers or not, he can handle some drug addict itching for a fix, and despite his bulk, the man was no taller than Ichigo, probably no older either.

Ichigo initiated the fight with a headbutt into the man's nose, leaving a bloody smear across his mouth. He instinctively reached to clutch his face in pain, which Ichigo took as his chance to grab his bladed hand and throw him over his shoulder, ending with a sharp twist to remove the knife from his grip.

Normally throws are performed in matted dojos or on soft grass, and even then, a properly performed shoulder throw by a black belt can leave someone winded or even knocked out. The back alleys of New York City were made of neither matting or grass soil. His should was probably broken, dislocated the least, and there was no way he was pulling himself back up from that.

"You ok?" Ichigo asked the girl who was still clutching her coat.

"Yeah, whatever, you looking for a reward?" She had a suspicious glare across her face.

Ichigo figured best to leave well alone, "uh, no?"

She gave a curious look about him but shrugged and walked off down the path he just came down. Ichigo decided to go the other way before the thug felt he was well enough to pull himself up.

Ichigo would think back at that moment in the Alley for a few days since. The rest of his trip to the campus had been uneventful, though he was shocked to find out that the campus didn't provide any housing on-site, even for immigrants like him. Luckily, they had a deal with an off-campus housing complex, but Ichigo was stuck taking two trains to get to class in the morning.

Professor Burbank stood about trying to give an informative enough lesson to the class. It was a 101 class and considering the difficulty of getting admitted into the school, most everyone in the room knew the material already like the back of their hand. Ichigo was beginning to worry if he's get so bored with these lesson plans that he'd be forced back into that alley once more.

 ** _That would be such a shame now wouldn't it?_**

That was a voice Ichigo hadn't heard in a long time, but soon after it came, it vanished, and no one else had seem to hear it.

 ** _Such a shame indeed_**

Ichigo wasn't the only one to arrive in New York that day. Over a million people commute to the big apple every day for work, and just as many come in for vacation, or commissioned work.

A tall, darkly dressed man exited the loading dock. A tan, caramel skin hidden beneath a thick black trench coat and aviator sunglasses. He carried only a single briefcase and sat down, looking out the window at the millions crowding out the city trying to make their way to work.

"New York City. The big apple. America's pride and joy. Only three years ago you suffered one of the worst tragedy to end all tragedies. I almost feel sorry for you. But don't worry, you won't have to wait to much longer for another massacre."

 **Conclusion** : Alright, thanks for sticking with me. I plan on releasing a chapter every day, and I plan on each chapter being 1k word minimum. Hoping this will help improve my writing. If you are having difficulting following the setting, I understand completely, but didn't know how to exposite that without being heavy-handed. Its September 2004. I figured Bleach was written in-present, and the manga was released in 2001, so extrapolating, 15-18 means 2004. If I make any errors in the continuity, let me know. I was only a child then so my cultural understanding of the time period is a bit askewed. However, no, Ichigo will not be getting a MySpace account.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer** : This is Fandom Friendly Blind. I try to make sure everything is readily understood by those not familiar with Bleach. If you find something that otherwise feels unexplained, please let me know so that I can fix it.

Chapter 3

Ichigo made his way out of the bus station. It was a cold and murky evening, with various travelers making their way home from work, or making the late shift at work. Ichigo had finished most of his early work already and had half-finished most the essays on his syllabus a few months in advanced.

Burbank was greatly impressed with his workload. The two got along just about as well as he did with his high school teachers, which made him glad the man was his Adviser as well as his teacher. There were still a few things about living in America that he wasn't used to just yet.

One time while he was out at a diner with some classmates, he got especially confused when everyone began counting the bill to calculate the tip. It ended with the entire group being dumbfounded that tipping wasn't a universal concept. The waitress said she was going to move to japan after hearing that they paid their waiters an appropriate wage.

That was an interesting meal, that slowly turned into an uncomfortable outing, especially since afterward the tipping debacle everyone began trying to pronounce 'ohaiyo gozaimas' and laughing as each of them failed horribly. He ignored it and found an opportune time to just get and up and go home.

As Ichigo makes his way up to his apartment, he makes an effort to check his mail first. Sure enough, Orihime had left him a letter. Lots of endless paragraphs with no parsing. Even if she was a straight A student, she sure was a spaz when it came to personal letters. Condensing the madness it boiled down to 'everything is fine' and 'we all miss you'. He got some relief hearing about Chad starting full time work at the construction company he would temp at, but confusion as to why. Was he happy his friend was making his own way in life or was it more that his friend would be spending less time fighting Hollows as a result? Did he care more about his friend's safety because of this lifestyle change? Perhaps what he really was relieved about was that his friends might need him to come lend a hand.

That was a fool's wish. Ichigo still hadn't gotten back any of his powers and there was no way he'd even be able to help if they did need him to come back.

As Ichigo collected his thoughts and read over Orihime's letter, Malcom walked over and got his mail across from Ichigo. Malcom was his neighbor who would occasionally greet him from time to time. They didn't know much about one another, but he was polite overall.

He looked over at Ichigo and gave a bit of an uncomfortable leer his way. "Do you have to stand so close? You're in my personal space"

Ichigo apologized a few times before backing away and leaving. Spacing was another issue Ichigo was dealing with over here in the states. Everyone was so boisterous and aggressive that one would think they'd all be in each other's faces, but it was quite the opposite. Everyone seemed to stand more than two feet apart from one another as they chat. So very different than in Japan. There, everyone was comfortable with being near everyone else, even if they didn't express their feelings as much as they do here.

Conclusion: Sorry this is a lot shorter than the last chapter, I woke up at noon-time and barely could get any work done. Still trying to parse how this story is going to go, but hopefully this is ok. 1/3 of 1k per chapter, but hopefully I improve as the story progresses. Maybe by chapter 10 I'll be getting 2k a day :P


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer** : Sorry for the wait. I actually had the concept for this chapter somewhat figured out already, but I needed a few good slaps to the face to figure all this out and get motivated to work.

 _Chapter 4_

Saturday mornings are an awkward thing for Ichigo. Getting out of bed at 6 wasn't an odd occurrence for him, but now he had nothing to do out here. He couldn't afford a TV, and he had already written most of his essays over the month. Since he couldn't very well go back to sleep, Ichigo had found himself almost sleep-walking to a small Japanese restaurant to have some ramen. The cliché elements of the experience went right over his head, as the entire experience gave him a little something of home.

The restaurant was managed by a quirky husband and wife who had named it "Reagan Ramen" to appeal to Americans. Considering everyone eating in here was an Asian immigrant, first or second generation, Ichigo didn't have the heart to tell the wife running the cash register.

Though, another thing Ichigo could hardly bring himself to tell them, was the likely reason most of their clients were middle age women and young men was that they had been having their 22-year-old daughter, Kimiko, waitress. Tall (average by American standards), with smooth black hair braided into her hair net, Kimiko stood out among every customer waving for their meal.

Kimiko was a nursing student graduate, which meant she had taken a lot of the same classes as Ichigo at one point in her, even if she hadn't attended the same college as him. She'd never shut up about it either, at least in Ichigo's presence, using it to poke fun at his inexperience.

There was something curious about the way she mocked him though, that always made Ichigo ignore the annoyance she made him feel. Among the friends and colleagues in his past life, the ones who mocked or chided him were often immature, or carried themselves like a child, hunched over, arms swinging or resting on their leg. Compared to them, Kimiko was practically a princess.

Always standing abrupt with her hands either held together under her apron or with one meekly covering her mouth whenever a more expressive emotion came over her. But at the same time, there was a strength to her words, a conviction that ensured no one could walk over her.

"Morning Ichigo" – Her words snapped Ichigo back to reality as she greeted him. "The usual today?"

Ichigo grunted in agreement, still a little too tired to speak. He'd been coming here for the past month and a half now, usually every Saturday morning, with the odd time during the week when he didn't have afternoon classes.

Kimiko recognized his sluggish behavior and there was a sly smile on her face as she pulled out his breakfast, clearly already prepared before he had shown up. "Dad wants to have a word when you're more awake. Maybe after you can tell me how your week's been." With that, she curtly turned away to attend to other customers still expecting their orders.

A couple of the other Asian university students ate here besides Ichigo, a few Chinese and Korean included, though there were several similar restaurants to meet their cultural needs elsewhere. No one served a bowl of Ramen like Mr. Osha. Gourmet broth with ham, crunchy onions, and carrots. There was even a boiled egg sitting on top that Ichigo greedily dug into.

One of the things Ichigo greatly loved about the restaurant wasn't the good, or Kimiko's service, it was that this was one of the few places he go to, and not be on egg shells. He could never dig so greedily into his food at the school cafeteria, mostly because he knew his American classmates would make a point of it and draw his attention to his own behavior. He had politely invited them to this place earlier into the school year, and they came. They loved the spectacle and the nicheness of the place. But gratefully, after a week, they got bored and he would come all by himself.

Soon his ramen was all finished and he left the empty bowl on the counter for Kimiko to grab as he made his way into the kitchen. Mrs. Osha made him wear an Apron and hair net first.

Mr. Osha stood at the big industrial stove that probably cost more than the restaurant itself as he motioned for Ichigo to come towards him. "Good Morning Ichigo, come, come."

"What do you need, Mr. Osha?"

"I hate to be so rude here, but you aren't a Yakuza, correct?" Kimiko had asked him that same question the first time she had him alone. Even in America, a Japanese man with ginger hair was an odd sight to see and was typically associated with delinquents.

Ichigo scratched at his orange hair through the hair net. "No, no. I thought I told Kimiko this already. I'm mixed blooded."

Mr. Osha's face lightened a little, Ichigo could now tell there was something more pressing weighing on his mind. "Is everything alright, sir?"

The old man sighed as he stepped away from his cooking. "You don't live down here so you probably haven't picked everything up yet, but there's been a lot of bad whispers among the customers. The Irish have been getting very rough with some of them, and the Yakuza have been cracking down on protection fees."

"If you need someone to talk to the Yakuza—" But the man shook his head, silencing Ichigo.

"It's not me I'm worried about. Kimiko, she doesn't live with us anymore. She had her own apartment outside of our little neighborhood, which I'm glad for, she shouldn't have to live with these Yakuza banging on her door, but she still has to walk home through here every night."

"And you want me to walk her home? Shouldn't this be Kimiko's decision?"

"Kimiko's too proud. I worry she'll say the wrong words and insult an Irish or Yakuza. She holds herself well here, but—" There was fear in his eyes. Ichigo had to hold himself back from a chuckle. The gangs were violent, but they were only human. It was hard for Ichigo to see anything dangerous about them after fighting genuine demons.

"Don't worry Mr. Osha, Kimiko can rely on me." He couldn't break this man's hopes that badly. It was refreshing to see a man care so much about the wellbeing of his child.

As they finished their talk, they turned their head to sound of a bunch of broken plates crashing on the floor.

 **Conclusion** – Sorry for taking so long, hopefully this won't happen for such a long period again.


End file.
